Unspoken
by Deneveon
Summary: K/J NJO Future :: Jaina Solo finds the answer to her deepest inner questions in a form she could never have expected.


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UNSPOKEN   
  
  
--   
  
  
Her youth was gone, her innocence with it. There was rarely a day that—for the last six years—she had not been forced to slay an enemy, to shoot down an adversary: all for the sake of freedom. But now, as she watched weary pilots drudge from their fighters after her, she no longer found any fulfillment in her number of kills that day, nor did the fact that they were this much closer to victory bring her any comfort. She no longer cared, didn't care if she had slain one Vong or a hundred. It made no difference to her, not anymore.   
  
The war was at a close. They were seemingly the victors. But what did winning this conflict matter in the end? She had lost ten pilots just today—and to what, save an already shattered galaxy, one ravaged needlessly by an extragalactic race of blood-hungry murderers?   
  
She had no strength left to even begin to address these questions, and she doubted she could find a suitable answer if she even bothered. Even so, she was tired of endless philosophical and moral debates on the same matter—there was enough fighting going on to make her life miserable—and was content to leave it as it was.   
  
So she made her way to her designated quarters, wanting only rest. After briefly returning the many congratulatory—though in her mind unnecessary—handshakes and smiles she received by assorted personnel in the corridors of the installation, she finally arrived at the small officer's cabin that served as her living area. It wasn't much different from the countless number of others that she had occupied in the past: thinly cushioned bunk, cold, durasteel floors, and a single desk.   
  
Her next thought came to her as ironic, that her life was just as sparse and as standard as this room was. Living on the edge of life and death every day wasn't anything new to her anymore, nor was the loss of one loved one after the other.   
  
A sudden pang struck her as she sank onto her bunk. She was the only surviving Solo child now, after Jacen had been killed almost two years ago. Her brothers' deaths had left her haunted and cold; even tasting the dark side again did nothing to numb the pain. Her parents were far from her, on the farthest side of the galaxy, tending to their own duties as heroes of the Republic. She gave out a cruel half-laugh—it was with no doubt that one day her name would be as renowned and legendary as was her uncle's or mother's or father's, yet being hailed a savior was no compensation for all that she had lost.   
  
So she closed her eyes, sitting on her bunk, once again trying to banish the haunted regrets—_regrets_; not grief, nor sorrow, nor even pain. She had no more tears left to cry; nor did she have to the will to shed them. At this instant—and at countless instances before—she wished that she could take back all the ill memories, all the mistakes she had made in her life. Though she knew it to be nothing but impossibility, nothing but vain imaginings. This was reality, she reasoned: it was useless looking upon the past.   
  
A wave of helplessness washed over her.   
  
She squeezed her eyes even tighter, ignoring the feeling that was no stranger to her. Wallowing in this self-pity seemed to help her, making her immune to the pains of the raging storm that was her life.   
  
Half a dozen years ago, she wouldn't have been able to imagine herself this way; she had such a future ahead of her. Now she had lost all the dreams she used to have, lost all the joy that she had believed life could bring. Today she was fighting for the fulfillment of the next generation's dreams, that maybe they would have a shot at living out their greatest ambitions.   
  
Funny, though, how fate could play such cruel tricks. Her parents had fought for the exact same thing decades ago; all they achieved was a corrupt, pathetic galaxy that was struggling to keep from imploding upon itself.   
  
A sigh escaped her, making her shoulders sag with fatigue. She didn't bother to remove her boots as she rested her head against the tiny cushion that had been excused as a pillow, though she knew it wasn't for another four hours until their next briefing was scheduled. Sleep eluded her—as it does so often—and so instead she got up and entered the cabin's refresher. In the mirror she caught glimpse of her reflection in the mirror: of a pale, weary woman, whose eyes were cold and haunted; whose gaze was empty but stone. Gone was the vigor and youth that used to burn in her; gone was whatever inner strength she used to possess.   
  
She lowered her eyes and thought nothing more of it as she splashed cool water on her face. Static filled her ears as the synthesizers under the sink turned on to replenish her faucet's supply, but she shut it off just as quickly.   
  
The light in the 'fresher went out as she left, and she glanced around her room once more before deciding to leave. Lack of rest still plagued her, but she easily dismissed the feeling of sleepiness.   
  
After keying in her pass code to lock it, she left her quarters and made her way to the mess hall. The myriad of corridors was not as bustled as before, and a quick look at her chronometer informed her that she had stayed in her cabin for a mere hour. It would take her about five standard minutes to reach the mess, but ten to reach the officer's lounge. She changed her course, thinking it best to burn away the time as she went.   
  
She took care in her every step, scrutinizing the hallways and passages as she did. She had already committed to memory the sequences of entryways and intersections, the different turbolifts and such, and had no trouble navigating her way. Upon reaching the lounge's hall, she decided to take a detour down a rarely used alley.   
  
The corridor itself was well lit but empty; in the silence her military-issued boots made rhythmic clicks against the hard floor. It led to an older wing of the installation, one that used to be one of the smaller control centers. Now it was an abandoned room, unneeded and unkempt. Dust had already begun to settle on the ordinarily clear transparisteel.   
  
Though in the room's center was a large viewport, one that looked out into the innumerable weave of the galaxy's stars. She walked towards it, studying the immense pattern of light and dark before her, a mingling of white, black, yellow, blue, red, and so much more. She had known space all her life, yet when she looked upon it from afar it always brought a certain humility upon herself, that it was for this creation that she fought and perhaps one day die for.   
  
"You're not going to die, Jaina."   
  
She didn't need to look behind her to recognize the voice; she had known it all her life. Other than that was his presence—Kyp Durron's aura was a supernova in the Force, and it was near impossible—if not entirely—to ignore it or mistake it for another's. His life force filled the room with such energy that even those not Force-sensitive could sometimes sense his arrival. A sliver of a smile crawled onto her face as she felt the familiar warmth emanate from him, something she found uncharacteristically comforting.   
  
She was finding almost anything about Kyp Durron comforting, actually.   
  
He began walking toward her, his steps slow and discreet. She listened to them, waiting for them, instantly recognizing the unique gait he carried as he strode. There was always a strange reassurance she could receive when he was around, a sense of security.   
  
He was soon standing at her side, watching the stars with her. She couldn't see him, and she made no effort to, not shifting her gaze from the viewport. She held no shields up against him, preferring to let his warmth engulf her senses instead, and in silence they both looked out into the galaxy they had both lived and almost died and shed blood for.   
  
It was at this moment that she remembered his words. She wasn't going to die.   
  
"There's nothing sure in this life," she said quietly, in response to his—in her opinion—hastily made promise. How many times had Jacen assured her that none of them were going to die, that they would all live through this and celebrate together?   
  
Too many, she thought firmly. He was dead, and Anakin was dead, and Chewbacca was dead: only three of this war's casualties. What good were his promises now?   
  
She felt Kyp stir, as if thinking of a suitable answer. "I know you're not going to die," he replied calmly, his voice like a pledge in itself, "because I'm not going to let you."   
  
This answer surprised her, and yet it didn't. She looked up at him questioningly, meeting his deep green eyes and finding herself entranced by them. There was always this something she could find in those eyes, something she could find nowhere else. It was more than simple comfort she found—it was something more, something she could not decipher, yet knew was there.   
  
He smiled softly, knowing her unspoken question. "I'll always be there," he whispered quietly, bringing his hand up to slide a stray lock of her hair away from her face. "Don't ever forget that."   
  
At first, she found his words soothing—but then found them haunting. So many had made the same vow to her—so many had broken it. The sudden thought of losing him took her aback, making her shiver involuntarily. Here was a man she had known all her life, a man she had trusted all her life, a man she had depended upon all her life. He had always been there, patient and willing, when she had needed a hand or shoulder.   
  
He had been there when Anakin died. When Jacen died. When Jag left.   
  
Just little over an hour ago she had been consumed with thoughts of cold reality. Now those thoughts returned. Mortality was always on the corner, waiting to greet them. Just little over an hour ago she had been wondering about what she was living for, what she was fighting for. An answer still hadn't come.   
  
But she realized then that it was only because of him that she had been able to live this long.   
  
She looked away. "I've had that promise broken too many times to believe it." Her mind still dwelled on the idea of him dying, of him not being there—when she needed him the most.   
  
_Needed._ She had never needed anyone before—at least she never thought she did. The Sword of the Jedi was alone in her fight—wasn't that how it worked?   
  
To her, it seemed otherwise. 

  
Kyp sighed audibly. "I'll always be here," he started, his voice suddenly taking on an edge, "because I've always been here." Then he grinned, making her look back up at him. "You don't think I could get inconsistent, do you?"   
  
She rolled her eyes and punched him lightly on the shoulder. "Can't you be serious for once, Kyp?" Then she observed his face, how his image was just as tired and war-scarred as hers. His grin was nothing but a shadow of what it used to be, she noted, and his temples bore even more gray than when this war started. She caught his eyes again. "I can't have you—I don't want you to—"   
  
She couldn't bear to say it out loud, not now, when the possibility of it was now before them both. Her shields were now at their strongest as she struggled to keep her feelings contained. Though if the truth could be written out plainly, she couldn't live without him.   
  
Once again she lowered her gaze. "I can't bear to lose you."   
  
The truth of her own confession burned through her. Perhaps before—years ago—she would have been able to handle it. Maybe. Not now. She had lost too many loved ones—   
  
"Jaina, look at me." She felt his fingers, calloused and strong as they were, gently lift her jaw, prompting her to return his gaze. The grin was no longer there, replaced by a look of—something. Something she had seen him hold before, yet something she could never really recognize—   
  
"I'm never leaving unless you want me to."   
  
She never heard more truth in his words—yet somehow knew he was lying. Wedge had assigned his Dozen here only to help with today's excursion, and nothing more.   
  
In her chest her heart was thrumming faster by the moment. Confusion swept over her like the helplessness that seemed to never leave her, yet the comfort of his presence still lingered on.   
  
"Wedge said—"   
  
"Since when did Wedge's orders mean anything to me?" Before she could say anything more, he continued, though his voice took a softer tone to it. "Do you want me to stay, Jaina?"   
  
She stared into his eyes again, as if she would be able to gather an answer from searching them. She had been dancing with death all her life, yet every time it seemed to strike he would always be there to stop it. He was always there for her, and whenever he was near she seemed to immediately slink out of her normally depressive state of mind. She owed him much more than she could repay, and perhaps even more than—not only for the countless times he had saved her life, but also for the immeasurable love he had showered upon her, no matter how many times she had thrown it back at his face without respite.   
  
And she loved him for it.   
  
For a moment she expected herself to feel the shock or surprise of that thought, but it didn't come. Then she realized that she had loved him, all this time, yet ignored it. Loved him—   
  
She was in love with him—and she didn't even know it.   
  
"Yes, I want you to stay," she replied quietly, dropping all her shields once more. "I need you more than anything." And then she felt emotions she thought she had been immune to all this time: joy over finding him, grief over almost losing him.   
  
"I guess I—" She tried to say it, but couldn't find the will to. She couldn't comprehend why, couldn't explain this sudden case of nerves that came over her. Afraid of what he might think, her shields sprang up again, and her eyes lowered from his. What would he say?   
  
Her mind thought back on Borleias, three, almost four years ago. She remembered what she had said to him and instantly regretted it more than anything.   
  
"Jaina…"   
  
His voice seemed so distant to her, yet she knew otherwise. She couldn't look at him, wasn't sure of what he might see in her eyes. He had a way of reading her, even without the Force—just by watching her, looking at her. In a way she was grateful for that, that they didn't need many words to communicate; yet at this moment she wished that for once, at least this once, he wouldn't be able to see the confusion in her. After all, she had always insisted he was a good friend, even an older brother—but nothing more than. Now that she knew she was wrong, she had no idea of how to tell him, if she would even be able to accept his answer.   
  
What if he _didn't_ love her?   
  
She couldn't bear that, couldn't live with it. She needed him now more than anything, but couldn't ask for his help.   
  
Suddenly she realized that she had been grasping his hand, like she would do so often whenever she was troubled or tense. Their physical closeness was now somewhat magnified, only a breath of space between them. She stepped back, letting go of his hold in the process, trying hard not to catch his gaze.   
  
"I'm sorry" was all she heard herself utter as she retreated, doing her best to fight off this confusing tide of emotions.   
  
  
--   
  
  
She couldn't let herself see him after that, not after she had done. Over and over again she wondered in her mind if she should have told him; over and over again she could find no answer.   
  
Then she received the note.   
  
_Jaina,   
  
I'm not leaving._   
  
It was simply signed _Kyp,_ and she smiled a bit when she read it. Five years removed and she might have been happy to get rid of him, but now she was content enough to know that she could get him to leave as soon as she got rid of these feelings she had.   
  
And when he made a promise, he never broke it.   
  
Still, she found it one of the most difficult things she had ever done in her entire life. If she told him, she would be risking her heart and her love—   
  
But it wasn't like she never took chances before.   
  
In two days her squadron was to be relocated to Mon Calamari—again. In two days, she would have to tell him.   
  
And then she realized that in her life, she had only him left. Her parents, they were so far from her. Her siblings, they were gone. Her friends, all off to fight the same enemies she had sworn her life to defeat.   
  
In her life, he was the only one who could cure her of her pathetic depressions, and the only one who could bring a smile to her face. In her life, he was the only one who could make her forget the struggles they'd both gone through—   
  
Together.   
  
And he wasn't ever leaving; he said it himself. She had nothing to lose.   
  
And a Solo never backed down from a challenge.   
  
  
--   
  
  
She knew he'd find her.   
  
As she stared into the vast infinite beyond again, she heard his footsteps echo behind her. She fought the urge to turn to him as he slowed to as stop beside her. The silence between them stayed tense and thick; even her uncle's best meditation techniques didn't seem to help.   
  
"Do you believe in miracles?" He suddenly asked quietly, breaking the quiet. She didn't see the reason for his strange question, but answered still.   
  
"Sometimes," she replied, trying to muster enough courage to tell him. Never did she realize that three short words could leave her helpless. Her shields started faltering when her concentration buckled. Having him around now was—intoxicating, to say the very least, and these questions didn't help.   
  
"I never believed in them," he said, staring out the viewport with her. "But then, I met this girl—"   
  
At this her stomach jumped up to her throat. Before her now was one of her worst fears unraveling—and it left her paralyzed. She tried to listen, to keep her attention, yet her mind began spinning at his words.   
  
"I thought I had no chance with her, you know. But how could I give up on her? She was all I had—"   
  
No longer was she staring at the stars, but at the floor. A tremendous weight had been laid on her chest, and she had no will to even begin to lift it off.   
  
"—and all I ever dreamed of. I tried to tell her I loved her, but I was too… afraid of what she might say. In fact, I still am."   
  
She didn't see him looking at her, studying her. When she made no effort to reply, he continued.   
  
"What do you think I should do?"   
  
This was it, she thought grimly, feeling as if the world had come crashing down on only her. Not only had she lost the man she had loved; she had lost the anchor upon which all her strength had been placed. It seemed as if it had taken all her willpower to simply lift her head to look at him. The sight of his green eyes filled with question simply wrenched her to pieces.   
  
She thought she had found him—only to lose him again.   
  
After doing her best to clear her throat, she managed the best reply she could think of. "I think you should tell her that you love her." She hoped he hadn't noticed the quivering in her voice.   
  
Then she saw his eyes change: once again she saw that incomprehensible something that she could never understand. As if in a hazy daydream, she felt his fingers trace the contour of face, seemingly to erase all the lines and scars left by war. His words came in a gentle whisper, a caress in itself, and the entire fabric of time and frame seemed to come to a halt.   
  
"I love you."   
  
She didn't let the sudden shock the flooded into her senses stop her from immerse herself in his embrace, and she felt herself shudder with incredulous laughter. She could say nothing, but returned the sentiment with a kiss, one that captured his soul into hers. Her shields dissipated and she let his overpowering life force feed her strength. She poured all her frustrations into that kiss—and as he kissed her back, she felt as if she had finally found the answer to her endless questions.   
  
She was fighting for _this._ She was fighting for their lives, for their love.   
  
And she truly believed in miracles.   
  
  
--


End file.
